


Spilled

by icylook



Series: Vergil Surana [14]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Blood Magic, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 16:08:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21394945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icylook/pseuds/icylook
Summary: Bruises and twists weren't important, Vergil would live through them. Had worse, seen worse. Cruelty wasn't nothing new for him, and he knew what to expect.
Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Male Warden, Zevran Arainai/Vergil Surana
Series: Vergil Surana [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1615327
Kudos: 8





	Spilled

**Author's Note:**

> Fort Drakon and practical use of blood magic :D

Bruises weren't enough for them.

They could hold him harshly, and his skin would bloom with shades of angry red, unprotected against rough fingers.

Their mistake was to draw blood.

Thick ruby liquid spilling freely from the cut on his brow, after a slap. It hurt worse when it was done with armored glove, they knew it. Vergil had no doubt they relished in his pain, frustrated by the lack of begging. After all, they haven't done anything terrible. A bit of warming up. Wardens were traitors, and he deserved what was coming. It was just an excuse for a torment before their shift would end.

Stripping Vergil from his armor and clothes was meant to humiliate. Leaving bare skin to their hungry gazes, jeering comments, hurling insults to make him feel afraid, insignificant. He played the part of a frightened victim, if only to lull their awarness. Curling into himself, as cold damp air hit him, trying to hide, even if he wanted to stand straight and look at them as they were worms.

His head felt heavy, swimming from the potion they forced down his throat, nearly drowning him with it. Iron fingers held his jaw open, making him choke and spill half of it when he trashed in their grip. Covering his nose and cutting off the air completely made him swallow the bitter slop.

Vergil's throat was burning from held in coughs, when the subtle feeling of cold in the tips of his fingers numbed, then muted to nothingness. His jailors drugged him with magebane, stripping him of magic as well.

Harsh hand in his hair, twisting the strands painfully against his scalp. And when the potion hit his veins properly, Vergil had a problem with keeping his eyes open. Too much too soon.

They were wary of him. Probably thought he'd unleash something, if they wouldn't keep him under quickly. Clever.

But as they thought him helpless, they made a mistake. His wrists tied behind his back, too tight and he already was losing the feeling. Knees hurt on cold floor, the hard collision with it still aching in his bones. The scrape of dirt on his face, naked body, the mess of his struggles and their roughness.

It didn't matter. What mattered were the sneering faces of his captors, sure in their power over him and flushed in nasty glee. He was the new toy to play with, something to quench the thirst of boredom. And Vergil's Order was declared a betrayer to their nation, free to roughen up. Before any other order would come in, telling what to do with him. After all, they could say he struggled and used magic, so they had to put him in his place. Enough that he'd live, but it didn't mean he had to be in one piece.

But before their fun even began, it ended.

Bruises and twists weren't important, Vergil would live through them. Had worse, seen worse. Cruelty wasn't nothing new for him, and he knew what to expect.

Part of him refused to low his head and act the helpless victim they wanted him to be, taunting words on the tip of his tongue. He couldn't really get rid of the defiance in his eyes, and it cost him a blow to his face, unleashing the torrent of coarse words from the jailors. The hit rattled his thoughts for a moment, ringing in his ears, pain blooming from cut skin. He blinked through the blood in his eye, vision swimming in red. Suddenly a gloved hand was clenched on his throat, scowling face spitting something he wasn't paying attention to. Struggling to breathe.

A brush of a whisper in his mind, a thought of something sharp he wished in his hand right then, so he could plunge it in the eye of his captor and make him bleed and-

It _happened_.

He panted, gulping the air greedily, when his throat was freed and the painful yelp reached his ears, not one of his own, even when his neck felt like it was on fire. Still thinking of hurting the other with the imaginary dagger, made of his own blood.

A fleeting glance and he saw how the jailor kept clawing at his face, blood seeping through his fingers, stepping back and nearly tripping, others freezed in shock and then looking at him, rage and horror twisting their features, rushing at him with furious growls.

Vergil swayed as he kept looking at them, his head spinning when he wished them to stop, the force of his _'No'_ making them halt in uneven steps. The blood of the one clawing at his messy eye swirled from the man, making him violently shiver.

Deep red miasma was seeping from the body, acting like chains, covering them, holding them in place, even when they tried to fight it. Crimson mist floated around their heads, thickening in tendrils, making them go slack while they screamed and struggled in the bonds, faces twisted in primal fear, shifting away from the coils.

Vergil's mind swam and he felt drunk, not letting go of the spell, gritting his teeth and pushing the blood to work. Making them chained and helpless, at his mercy. He was shaking from the effort, as he felt hands on his shoulders, curling into his flesh, cold phantom of a body at his back, cool whisper brushing his ear.

He held it until the man with a stab wound on his face crumpled with loud _thud_ of armor and dead body, others following suit, but still breathing. Their bloodied faces with grimaces of horror, eyes unseeing, twitching uncontrollably.

Vergil barely kept on his knees, almost going head down on the dirt, but something was keeping him up. The wave of nausea struck him, skin clammy, blood rushing from his nose. The taste of metal was making him want to spit it out, but instead he had to swallow a mouthful, breathing hard through his mouth. He almost collapsed in exhaustion when a distant purr of _'Enough'_ echoed in his mind. Except he refused to let go, fearing the soldiers would shake the spell off and go after him, forcing himself to hold it, his sight hazy and red. Nothing stopped the fall, when he swayed to the side, shoulder spiking with pain, and there's a disappointed _tut_ from someone, a flash of blazing golden-black eyes and swirl of white just before he heard _'I said enough'_, the feeling of claws digging in his arms with slight more force and he let go, along with his spotty vision.

Too much too soon.

When he came to it, there's someone speaking to him, his body held up, and risked opening his eyes, slowly blinking off the blur. He grimaced as the stench of the room hit him, seeing a blond strands and golden eyes gazing into his, brows wrinkled.

Zevran's face cleared when Vergil grunted under his breath. “My Warden, did you miss me?”

Vergil only huffed in response.

There's someone else going about the room, grumbling, _Oghren_, and he closed his eyes briefly, body going slack for a moment, feeling the hands holding him grip tighter, “Don't go asleep on me now,” whispered against his temple. His lips curled up, dried blood cracking off his skin, tilting head back, still feeling like he's drunk and he almost giggled. _Drunk._ Drunk on power coursing through his veins. Even when he could't move his limbs properly.

Somehow he willed his body to move, hands already free, clawing at Zevran with murmured _'help me up'_ and there's a sigh when he stood on his own, hunched on himself, but Zevran's hands were stilling him. Letting Vergil slouch against him, steady. Bare skin on leather.

They helped him put on his clothes, found in another room and didn't comment on body laying in pool of blood, others looking like they're sleeping through a nightmare. He used the not so fresh water from the bucket in the room they kept his things to clean his face as best as he's able to with trembling hands. He's cold, the world spinning when he moved too quickly. His body hurt in places. But his mind was collected. Calm.

Vergil unhurriedly drank the elfroot potion, thinking.

And when Zevran made to use the dagger to slit the throat of the breathing bodies laying there, he rasped “Don't. I'll need them for later.”

They had to get out from the Fort. Magebane was still working, blocking him off the Fade. Vergil glanced coldly at his former captors, “Cut them, but nothing vital,” he told Zevran, stepping closer to the door, “Just so they won't move.”

“That,” Zevran nodded with a slow smirk, uncorking a small vial of dark liquid “is something I can do.” Vergil leaned against a wall, watching him working on the first body, efficiently, without hesitation. As soon as the blood was drawn, he focused on how it felt, how he'd summon it with growing distance. It should be enough to trick anyone looking at them, the glamour he's planning on using. A pity it didn't cover the sound. “Any other way out?”

Oghren shook his head, “Didn't look like it,” he shrugged, resting the axe handle on the shoulder, “we weren't exactly sightseeing. Someone,” he grunted glancing at Zevran, “was in a hurry.”

“I believe this situation required a quick action.”

Vergil's eyes found Zevran, wiping the bloodied dagger before sheathing it back.

“The queen?”

For a moment Zevran looked like he tasted something foul, “All well and authoritative, last I've seen her.” His smile was sharp, “Will this be sufficient?” He gestured at the bodies and Vergil looked at them, closing his eyes with a sigh. Still alive, bleeding out.

“Yes,” his shoulders slumped, the wave of tiredness barely kept at bay by the potion he chugged earlier. Fingers circled his wrist, squeezing briefly, gone before he fully registered the touch. “There's an armory, not so far from here.” Zevran glanced at the abused skin on his neck, “We could use the armors to blend in.” This close he could see the golden flecks, Zevran's determined gaze making warmth bloom in Vergil's chest. He squashed it, swallowing the sudden words of gratitude, throat tight.

_You didn't leave me to rot here, I don't have to claw my way out alone._

_Later_, he thought.

_Later._


End file.
